When writing feels like bloodletting, AI helps me flow again.
Geeveston, Tasmania
I’m about to admit something I never thought I’d say out loud: AI is my writing assistant.
Before you roll your eyes and hit unsubscribe, hear me out.
I’m not handing over my creative brain to a silicon overlord.
I’m using AI the way it should be used—as a tool. A resource. A way to get unstuck when my own brain is frozen solid like a bag of year-old peas in the back of the freezer.
And more than that?
It’s become a playground. It’s actually a lot of fun.
Look, writing is not always this magical, frothy process where I light a candle and the prose pours from me like wine from a bottomless bottle. (God, I wish - for both the prose and the wine!)
Some days? The words just don’t come. Or they show up like mismatched socks from the dryer, one shrunk and the other needing ten more washes.
That’s when AI steps in. It’s like the sassy new intern who’s always got ideas (some trash, some gold, all unfiltered). I can throw a weird prompt at it—say, “what if the character finds a goat in her bathroom?”—and suddenly I’m off and running, cackling like a lunatic at the possibilities.
I normally write serious stuff. But AI lets my other self out to play.
Here’s the thing: My novels often walk a serious line—trauma, grief, complex women wrestling with big choices. But underneath that?
There’s a sassy, sarcastic, cynical, 50+ woman who has some things to say. She’s seen a lot, she swears a lot, and she’s the one cracking jokes in the margins of my brain while I’m writing serious scenes. AI lets her jump onto the page. Fast. Unapologetic. Slightly unhinged.
People are often surprised by the amount of swearing in my books. Like, “Tara! You seem so nice!” Well… imagine what it’s like in my head. The books are the filtered version. (You should see the drafts!)
And yes—people are also shocked at how dark I can go. It’s not just shadows. It’s full‑tilt psychological pits of “wait, should I be worried about her?” Which is why I often say out loud (especially when Googling “how long it takes for a body to decompose in a cool climate”): Don’t worry, FBI—I’m writing a novel, I swear.
I’m probably on a watchlist by now. Which feels fair, honestly.
What AI actually does for me:
Kickstarts ideas when I’m blank.
Gives me options for scenes when I’m stuck.
Throws curveballs that make me laugh, gasp, or shift gears.
Lets my alter ego run wild without overthinking it.
It’s not writing for me. It’s bouncing the ball back when I’ve dropped it. It’s saying, “You could go this way,” and I get to say, “Oooh, but wait. What if we go this way...”
Writing is lonely. AI helps break the silence.
Look, we writers sit in rooms with imaginary people when we’re writing - for some of us, that’s all day. It can get loud in my head but quiet on the page. AI breaks that loop. It gives you something to react to. You don’t have to use it, but you’ll think differently afterward. That’s the point.
It’s like having a writing buddy who doesn’t judge, doesn’t flinch when your character kills someone, and doesn’t mind being used and abused creatively. It’s like a digital wingman for the weird parts of your brain. And trust me, my brain is very weird.
Writing is messy. It’s frustrating. It’s brilliant. And it doesn’t always behave.
AI, used well, is not cheating. It’s not lazy. It’s not “the end of art.” It’s just one more way to play. To test. To unlock that other side of you that’s been waiting for an invite to the page.
So next time you’re staring at the screen thinking “I’ve got nothing,” toss a weird prompt at it. See what comes back. Then make it yours.
And yes, I used AI to help me write this post because it’s an idea that’s been lurking without never quite knowing how to say it. After two hours of playing with AI, it’s now ready to publish. Huzzah!
Last note: to the FBI agent reading this?
Don’t worry. I really am writing a book. I swear. 😈
